


Only You

by Geertrui



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Erik Has Feelings, Established Relationship, M/M, Night Clubs, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geertrui/pseuds/Geertrui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's pants are sticking to his legs, there are humans everywhere, and to top it all off Charles has started <i>grinding</i> on Logan. Screw Emma, screw the meeting, and screw Charles-</p><p>Well, by the end of the night, Erik would <i>like</i> to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kageillusionz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/gifts).



> For Secret Mutant Madness! I don't think I've ever written so much in such a short period of time as I have over Secret Mutant, but I've been wanting to do a vampire!AU for aaaages, and so to dear Kageillusionz, you've given me the perfect excuse to finally get myself into gear and write one :D I tried to base this off of one of the prompts I found on your blog, "you’ve been grinding on all my friends but not on me it’s been four hours I’m drunk my ego is hurt I want an explanation" however I got a bit excited and... deviated from the original prompt... lol. 
> 
> Loosely uses of the dynamics(?) of True Blood, but you don't have to know a thing about the show/books to understand this. I made up the things I forgot about the True Blood universe, and no original characters from the show are in this. I just like the universe :3

Standing stiffly beneath the deep purple and blood red strobe lights as he is, it isn’t long before the leather pants hugging Erik’s legs start to stick unforgivingly to his skin with sweat. Rubbing his clammy hands over his thighs does little to alleviate the sensation, and all he can do to find some semblance of relief is project his discomforts to the Sheriff.

 _Stop your sulking,_ Charles says airily into his mind, clear over the heavy bass, lips a small smile and eyes fixed on the crowd in front of them with interest. Erik frowns harder, glaring out at the humans and vampires alike, all swaying and touching and rubbing, because, in a sense, they _are_ the reason why his pants are sticking to all the places they shouldn’t be right now, and so, in a sense, it’s _their fault_. Charles sighs quietly, and Erik snaps his gaze down quickly to where the vampire sits. They. _Are._

 _Fangtasia._ What an embarrassing name for an establishment. Erik almost can’t believe that Frost allowed the _monstrosity_ of a word to filter into her head, and then, upon deeming it as a sound title, had the blended concoction emblazoned and forever immortalised in slanted purple neon atop the facade of the building. She’s _too clever_ to do that, too cynical, just like he himself is. And yet.

“Behave,” Charles murmurs lowly, and the authority in his tone almost makes Erik shiver. Almost. The pants are sucking too much of his complacency away and casting it into an oblivion blacker than their shade to allow him to find pleasure in anything. Charles finally turns his head to look up at Erik then, eyes dangerous and glinting with something that says  _so-help-me-Erik-you-will-never-know-true-happiness-again-if-you-persist-in-acting-like-a-Newborn._ Erik knows that look. He’d smirk at its transparency if it wouldn’t send Charles into a tiff.

“My apologies, Sheriff,” Erik says with a slight bow, voice low and smooth. He doesn’t miss the way Charles licks his bottom lip, the way his eyes shimmer and flick down Erik’s lean body, or the way he steadies himself and gazes out at the club’s dancefloor once more after he’s been caught.

It’s not hard to differentiate the humans from the vampires, even if Erik were not one of the undead himself, with keen senses and a sharp mind. Caught in the beat, the vampires move with ease and grace across the small floor, bodies shimmering with their supernaturally quick movements and never faltering in their confidence. The humans watch them in awe, eyes wide and wild and chasing every moment, following every shimmy of narrow hips. A scattering have edged towards the stage, and Erik can see them watching Charles from the corners of their eyes. Erik can _smell_ their rushing blood, full of arousal, hot and fresh, filling veins and arteries and capillaries and pushed by the excited fluttering of their hearts.

A human boy - and he is just that, a _boy_ in Erik’s eyes and compared to Erik’s age - tentatively steps up to the small stage only to fall to his knees in front of where Charles sits and bow his head at his shiny Oxfords. Erik takes a step forward, ready to grab the boy by his scruff and cast him back into the crowd with the other humans, but Charles raises a delicate hand, eyes considering and lips pulled into an intrigued little smile that makes Erik’s chest tight. “Good evening,” Charles lilts, and the man looks up, pupils blown wide and lost in the deep brown of his eyes.

“Good evening,” the man stutters, and Erik rolls his eyes.

“How can I help you?” Charles asks gently, eyes kind. This is why none of the other Sheriffs take him seriously, Erik thinks in a huff. Charles has always been soft towards humans; but Erik knows from all his years at Charles’ side that his benevolence does not replace strength.

“You can feed from me,” the human blurts, biting his lip and turning his head to the side, offering the pale expanse of his throat, unmarred and unscarred by rival fangs. Virgin blood. Erik can see the throbbing of his pulse beneath his sweat-shiny skin. “If you should wish, Sheriff.”

Charles chuckles, reaching forward to tilt the man’s chin up, and he meets his eyes with a smile. “I appreciate your charitable offer, my friend, but I’m afraid I no longer feed from humans.”

Erik can see the confusion in the human’s eyes, and when he takes a step forward those eyes fix on him and fill with fear. Charles lets go of his jaw and settles back into his chair, and the man scrambles to his feet, eyes still flicking between Erik and the Sheriff.

Erik sighs, takes another step forward in front of Charles, and tries not to feel too chuffed when the human squeaks and backs away, hurrying down from the landing and back into the crowd. Charles hums and brushes his fingers over Erik’s wrist where the sleeve of his turtleneck ends, rubbing the cool skin and swell of bone affectionately before dropping his hand back to the arm of the chair. “You shouldn’t have scared him away,” Charles says, almost dejected.

“You’re right,” Erik grunts, stepping back into place at Charles’ side. “I should have invited him for tea.”

He hears Charles trying to contain his breathy laughter when he spies Emma making her way from her office behind the bar, and Charles immediately schools himself into perfect neutrality.

The vampires move easily from her path and show no signs of disturbance while the humans all skitter and give her a wide berth. Erik would almost be impressed, if he wasn’t suddenly filled with a teeth-grinding bitterness at the sight of Emma’s burly lackey tailing her, cloud of cigar smoke and all. Charles presses a warning thought to him, but Erik doesn’t catch it. 

“Now, Lehnsherr,” Emma says with a smile that doesn’t meet her glittering eyes. “We like our humans around these parts. I’d have thought you’d have taken to them now, given how long you and the Sheriff have been mated.”

“We’re not-” Erik starts defensively, hand a white-knuckled fist at his side, but when he slides his eyes over to Howlett and sees the man _grinning_ it dies on his tongue. Charles now stands, stepping down to Emma and spreading his arms.

“My dear,” he says warmly, embracing her with a polite distance between them. Her bejewelled, thin fingers press on Charles’ shoulder blades, she brushes her sugary, glossed lips against his mouth and then pulls away to take him in. Charles grins at her, glitter caught on his bottom lip, and Erik tries not to catch his eyes on it. “Excuse Erik, he’s brooding.”

Logan chuckles darkly, but Emma just rolls her eyes, linking her arm with Charles’ and leading him down from the stage. “When isn’t he?”

Erik lets it slide when Charles presses calming thought into their tether, and then glances over his shoulder. Erik doesn’t need to be told to fall into step, and he follows the two Sheriffs across the floor towards the office. They’ll talk business in private, discussing the news within their Areas, relay whatever they’ve heard from the Queen, probably try to cut off this vampire blood trade the humans have stupidly decided to start up. Erik tries not to sigh at the prospect of standing guard outside with _Logan_ for company for however long they’ll take. Erik can barely stand the man simply because he’s a _werewolf,_ but Erik’s sure that if Logan keeps eyeing Charles’ backside as he is he can hardly be blamed for any bar fights. Emma won’t kick Charles from her Area, and she definitely won’t tell the Queen; they enjoy gossiping too much. While Erik doesn’t care what Emma thinks of him taking out her bouncer, Charles is a completely different matter.

Like Charles knows - and the way their minds are twined, even as he's chatting with Emma, he probably _does_ \- he gives Erik a warning glance that says _be good_ before sliding into Emma’s office, following the fluttering of her white evening gown. With a huff Erik leans against the side of the door, trying to ignore the itching of his pants, and settles in for a long wait. “Cigar?” Logan offers, eyes crinkled in a grin, and Erik quirks his eyebrow and looks out to the crowd, procuring his own packet of cigarettes.

Logan has made several attempts at conversation before he realises Erik is not going to respond with anything more than a grunt by the time Charles reemerges, Emma on his arm. “Come now, business is settled; let’s dance.”

The younger vampires around them all duck their heads in slight bows as they pass, humans watching them in awe, and Erik can _feel_ their power emanating from them and filling the smoke-heavy air. The music is electric, thumping and quick with distorted little breaks in the melody, and fills all the space the scent of cigarettes and sweat and arousal hasn’t settled in. Something swells in his chest at the way Charles beams at the young vampires around them, and Erik feels like his lungs might burst when Charles glances back at him and flashes that smile at him, too.

Logan takes a heavy step forward, setting to tail the pair, and as much as Erik is itching to claim Charles’ side and pull him away from the lustful gazes he’s garnering he can’t bring himself to step from the wall. Charles can take care of himself; he’s the Sheriff of Area 10, and Erik’s maker - in a sense. He took Erik in when he was only a Newborn, after Shaw had turned him and left him to the mercy of his superstitious Pict kin. Charles, himself a Celt that had been cast from his own tribe, had meandered up past the wall that separated north from south and found him, teaching him to feed, helping him through his change; not even Hadrian could build a wall Charles couldn’t breakdown. Erik has stood loyally by him ever since.

 _But you’re still not mated,_ Erik’s mind whispers now, as he watches Charles spinning Emma on the dancefloor, his dark jeans tight, white blouse unbuttoned at the hollow of his throat. They’re not mated. Erik doesn’t have to worry, isn’t allowed to. Charles can take care of himself.

Jealousy is an itch more irritating than leather, skin and sweat combined, Erik finds. Whatever the two Sheriffs had discussed it must have gone well, the high backed chair on the platform at the front of the dancefloor empty as Emma pulls Charles around her. They didn’t come here to _dance,_ Erik thinks bitterly when Emma pushes herself flush against Charles’ back. They came here for business, to assess Emma’s mixed club, and to determine whether it would be a sound notion to introduce to the vampire club they run in their own Area, and then to meet with Emma herself. Charles has always loved humans, even back when he and Erik had found each other with wary eyes and raised hackles. He’d open his doors to the humans of Westchester county in a beat of his undead heart if it weren’t for Raven and her unsheathed disdain for them.

Raven. Erik half wishes she’d come on this excursion instead of him, so he could have remained in Westchester leaving her to the exasperating, endless wills of her adopted brother.

Then he remembers the last time Emma and Raven were in proximity, and he can’t help the way his skin tingles in a still-blooded blush.

When Erik looks back out over the floor, the humans and younger vampires have given the two Sheriffs a wide berth, and their movements shimmer and attract many a lustful gaze. Erik doesn’t know how Emma manages to move in her stilettos and her slim white dress, but the way her body twists and her hips gyrate, Erik thinks he can understand why Raven is so fixed with her, even if she’ll deny it with flaring nostrils and adamance in her hard, gold eyes.

With watching Emma comes gazing at Charles, and Erik’s heart clenches when his eyes slide to his Sheriff to find him rubbing back against Emma, _grinding_ on her of all things. He isn’t _jealous,_ he isn’t a Newborn, and he doesn’t care; but his gut is tight, his jaw clenched, and he’s struggling to draw his eyes away from where Charles is dancing freely on Emma, gleeful grin splitting his red mouth. Emma throws him a pointed, knowing look, and Erik drags his gaze away to glare fiercely at the floor. He won’t go over; he _won’t._ Even if his fists clench. Even if his pants are sticking in all the places they shouldn’t. Charles _likes_ these pants.

 _Darling,_ Charles sends to their tether, mental voice a teasing coo. _Stop sulking, come over._

 _You’re having fun enough,_ Erik bites back, and he hates that he’s being so petulant and childish, but something just feels… weird, in his gut. Tight and uncomfortable and a little hollow. Back at the mansion Charles is always on him, with his arm coiled around his waist or fingers curled in all the spaces between Erik’s own. The children know them as Charles and Erik, never one sans the other, in the privacy of their grand walls and sculpted ceilings. Erik knows a Sheriff can never take a mate, to avoid bias and eliminate favouritism, but it still hurts more than he’d like to admit for them to pretend, only to have their fallacy broken back down again when they stand before the glittering eyes of their undead society.

Charles sends a huff and a sigh into his mind, but leaves it at that, and Erik watches him roll with Emma’s movements, can _feel_ the cloud of power they permeate, heavy and tangible. Erik knows Charles loves him, as friends and brothers and then something a little less platonic, but it’s hard to remind himself when his teeth are grinding in guilty jealousy and his gut is tight with something like worry.

Even though they front their companionship as simply the Sheriff and his second, their proximity is always whispered about between dainty fingers with sly eyes, often trained on them. They have yet to be summoned by the Queen for their illicit relationship, but Erik’s sure Charles would smile a little sheepishly, flash that glittering blue he holds in his round wide eyes, and she’d sigh and wave them off, acquising and excusing with a toss of her bright red curls. Charles needn’t even glimmer people to control them, never has needed to coil his telepathy in their minds to convince them: a flash of his grin is all he needs, and it works wonders.

A grin, Erik spies, that he’s throwing Logan, where the werewolf is standing close to Emma on the dancefloor.

When Charles shimmies over to the burly man and turns to rub back against him, Erik feels something pulse in his jaw where he’s clamped it tight, something hot lancing in his chest like he’s been stabbed or his ribs are cracked. Charles is _grinding_ on Howlett, and making sure he knows about it, throwing _looks_ at Erik, and his stubbornness withers under the heat of his jealousy.  
  
Humans scatter around him as he strides to the dancefloor, and at any other time Erik might grin wickedly about it, but as it is he’s ignoring even the chaffing of the pants and broiling in his anger. He shoulders past some younger vampire to push in close to Charles. Logan grins at him over the Sheriff’s floppy-haired head, and it takes all Erik’s strength not to coil his powers around the dog-tags the werewolf wears and constrict them around his neck.

The music is irritatingly heavy even if not overbearingly loud, and it fills the slight spaces between sweaty bodies and heated looks. Erik’s thin fingered grip finds itself around Charles’ arm, and he pulls the vampire to him, chests together, away from Logan and away from his lecherous gaze.

 _What are you doing,_ Charles hisses in his mind, and when Erik looks down at him that half-lidded confidence is gone, replaced by wide-eyed worry. _Let go before someone sees-_

“So territorial,” Emma drawls, watching the two, and Erik can’t help but pull Charles closer to him on instinct even if he can feel Charles straining to pull back.

“Erik does get rather overexcited,” Charles says between his teeth, attempting to tug his arm free again. Erik almost lets him go, almost feels guilty and ashamed when Charles throws a pointed and irritated look at him, but then Logan opens his mouth.

“You should get a leash for him,” the werewolf jokes, and Erik snarls, pulling Charles into him even tighter. Two pointed fangs slide from his gums, protruding from under his curled lip, but the threat only makes Logan laugh louder.

“A drink,” Charles gasps quickly, curling his arm around in Erik’s grip and taking his wrist in his own hand. “I’m thirsty from all this dancing,” he tries again, looking up at Erik almost pleadingly. Erik’s fangs retract when his heated gaze finally falls from Logan and settles on his Sheriff, and the jealousy is chased away by cold guilt when he finds Charles’ raw expression.

“Of course,” Erik grunts, and only when one more tense moment passes does he let go of Charles’ arm, turning his back to Emma’s intrigued smirk and away from the mirthless grin splitting Logan’s thin mouth.

 _Meet me in our room,_ Charles presses to him, along with something soft and knowing, and Erik pushes an apology back.

“Type A,” Erik spits to the bartender once he’s shunted his way to the bar. The vampire arches a heavily pierced eyebrow before turning and bending at the hip, reaching into some kind of warmer oven and searching the labels. She turns with her weight on a jean-clad leg, bared hip jutting, heavy ringed-fingers curled around the red bottle. 

“It’s forty,” she tells him, settling the bottle of True Blood on the counter, and now Erik raises an eyebrow.

“Charge it to the Wolverine’s tab,” he says easily, uncapping the bottle of synthetic blood with a wave of his long fingers and taking the warm glass in his palm. The other vampire just shrugs and turns, and Erik would grin if he didn't feel so _annoyed_.

He’d never taken to the synthetic blood as well as Charles had, but he wouldn’t pass up a bottle now. He’s not sure whether it’s coincidence or _something else_ that he and Charles favour the same blood type, but he’s glad for it enough. The liquid is thick and heady, warmed to body temperature and perfect on his tongue, metallic and sour. His fangs evert on their own, and even if it isn’t real human blood it’s just as fulling. It doesn’t take Erik long to finish the bottle, and he sets it back down onto the counter a little breathlessly. A red bead of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and he pushes it away with his hand, looking out at the dancefloor and finding Charles still twirling around with Emma.

Erik can already feel the True Blood working its plethora of wonders as its qualities trickle into his own bloodstream; there’s a light tingling beneath his skin, and the colours in the room all sharpen and bright. When he breathes through his nose he can smell all the humans’ inebriated arousal, all their fresh, hot, _natural_ blood, but now with something else, something extra, thick like wood smoke and making him dizzy. 

Only another five or so minutes before the synthetic blood is fully absorbed in his system. With another glance out to Charles, Erik turns and starts for the locked door just further down from the bar. The lock yields to Erik’s powers, and he slips past the door quickly, taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He’s met with a long narrow corridor lined with several doors, all leading to the rooms Emma rents out to visiting Sheriffs and other high-tier vampires, and with a few long strides he comes to the one belonging to him and Charles.

Opposite the doorway in the room is a large bay window, framed by thick red velvet curtains with its pane blackened. During the night the glass is translucent, offering a darkened view stippled by the vast city’s lights, but when the sun rises the black effectively blocks all rays of light from outside. Charles had most of the main windows in the mansion treated to block the sun just like this one - a deluxe privilege most vampires go without - but Charles and Emma are as rich as they are thick as thieves and Erik relishes in the luxurious lifestyle Charles treats him to. 

The bed is smaller than the one he shares with Charles back in Westchester, but Erik settles down on the satin-cased duvet and stretches his long legs before him. The leather pants are still sticking, but with the True Blood trickling through his veins he can hardly mind it. The wait for Charles seems longer than a sobered Erik would find it, and by the time Erik feels the tumblers clicking in the door handle and he smells Charles’ intoxicating scent, he’s laying on his back with a hand low on his stomach.

“Darling?” Charles ventures gently, shutting the door behind him. Erik flicks his fingers, and the lock melts shut and secure. When he pushes himself up his head spins a little, pupils dilated and fangs catching on his bottom lip, venom dribbling out and sweet when he runs his tongue over it.

They aren’t mated, not formally, but looking at Charles, sensing Charles _does things_ to Erik, and he swallows thickly. Charles is still standing by the door watching him, shirt tucked into his dark tight jeans and unbuttoned at his throat, sleeves rolled up to the crux of his elbows and revealing the pale skin and taut muscles of his forearms. Erik despises his tight leather pants for an entirely new but not unprecedented reason.

In one graceful, fluid movement, Erik pushes himself down to the floor, settling on his knees and bowing his head, and he hears Charles click his tongue and huff in exasperation; but he _wants_ to do this, and he’s stubborn and a little airy from the blood and from having Charles close to him and on top of it all _guilty_ that he was so petulant and childish in front of another Sheriff. “I’m sorry for how I acted this evening,” Erik says lowly, eyes downcast, and he can feel the metal on Charles’ belt and of his ring as the vampire comes to him.

“You’re not going to get up until I forgive you, are you?” Charles says, but there’s nothing sour lacing his tone, just gentle humour. His fingers find themselves in Erik’s slicked back hair, and he traces the shell of Erik’s ear. “I found your unabashed protective streak endearing.”

“You found it irritating,” Erik corrects, angry at himself anew.

Charles hums, pushing his hair. “Come on now, Erik. I forgive you. There, will you stand up now?”

It’s really all that Charles has to say on the matter, really all that he will say, and Erik knows this, so he rises to his full height and gazes down at his Sheriff. “Emma and Logan already know of us, but Emma would readily kiss her second before she’d reveal us,” Charles continues, pushing Erik’s hair back from his forehead. “We just have to be careful of the wandering eyes of other, less loyal vampires. That’s why I danced with Logan. You know this, yes?” 

Of course Erik knows, and he also knows that Charles is only saying the words aloud so it’ll calm him down, sink in and balm his guilty conscience. Charles is his and he belongs solely to Charles. “Logan could never keep up with your whims, anyway,” Erik says with a sigh, pressing his cheek to Charles’ soft palm, and the vampire cracks a wide grin.

“You’re so much better at dancing, too,” Charles titters. Erik grumbles.

“Not in these damned pants.”

“Oh, but you know how I do favour them. They make your legs look just delicious.”

Erik quirks an eyebrow. “My balls are stuck to my thigh,” he says flat and dry and with no eloquence whatsoever, and Charles cackles.

“Maybe we should take them off then,” Charles wonders, walking Erik backwards towards the bed and pushing him down onto the mattress once the backs of his knees hit the duvet. Erik watches the way Charles’ pupils blow wide, with only a thin ring of sea-deep blue surrounding them, lost in his heavy, heated gaze. Something warm and incalescent coils low in Erik’s belly, something that can’t be attributed to the synthetic blood alone.

Charles never looks away as he slowly, steadily, crawls into Erik’s lap, knees either side of Erik’s open thighs with the fly of his jeans pressed to Erik’s abdomen. _You’ve had a drink?_ Charles asks, and Erik’s mouth goes dry when he notices the way Charles’ heavy eyes settle on the space between his jaw and the top of his turtleneck.

“I did,” Erik murmurs, fangs dragging over his thin lips, and he shivers when Charles’ own long teeth slide out with a quiet little _snkit_ and push against his red plush bottom lip. When Erik leans forward to kiss Charles, no matter how gentle he is, their teeth knock together, catching and dragging on each other’s lips and seeping venom onto one another’s tongues. Even if they can never be formally mated, Erik thinks it’s too late to convince themselves they aren’t, in some way, for when Charles kisses him tentatively and gently his taste is sweet like honey and just as addictive, and Erik slides his hands up Charles’ firm sides to settle in the dark brown curls of his hair. The slide and drag of Charles’ mouth over his own makes his breath come quick, head dizzy with the synthetic blood and Charles’ scent, with his heart thundering in his chest.

“Now,” he gasps, pulling away and tugging at the neck of his jumper. He tilts his head, baring his throating, and when he pulls the material down he reveals all the bite marks he always keeps hidden when they’re in public. “I’m ready.”

It’s not an unusual practice for vampires to drink from one another, but it is rare in this day and age, where True Blood is available anywhere, and humans are willing to offer themselves to sate some sort of fetish that, admittedly, Erik might think he understands. Still, the vampires that do bare their throats for others are typically mated and Erik-- they can’t do that, not unless Charles were to relinquish his position as Sheriff, and Erik could never ask him to do that, especially knowing all that Charles does for their kin.

Plus, Erik knows that they don’t _need_ mateship to validate what they have; they don’t need to flaunt it for all their world to see. Charles coils in his mind, and he feels his love and devotion there stronger and louder and hotter than any bond mark could sing in his flesh.

Charles’ eyes trace every puncture mark on Erik’s pale skin before sliding back up and making contact. Charles doesn’t ask if he’s ready, he knows, feeling the surging blood in his veins as if it was his own; and in a way, Erik thinks, it _is,_ for he belongs to Charles so wholly and solely, every part of his being for Charles to take and use as he should wish.

Before, years and decades and centuries ago, when it was just the two of them travelling and seeking and searching, they fed from humans together, and afterwards Charles would sit back on his heels and stare an empty gaze at the equally empty human crumpled on the ground before them. Erik could never say anything, could only wait for Charles to come out of it himself, but as time passed it _hurt_ to see Charles look so guilty, so shameful. Friends would be too intimate a term for their relationship at that time, but eventually, when it all got too much, Erik had turned his wrists to Charles and bared his throat with eyes clenched shut, offering, waiting for Charles to push him away, for Charles to leave him, disgusted and repulsed.

But he never did.

Erik notes the warm dampness of Charles’ heavy breaths puffing over his skin before he inches forward, and in one fluid movement Charles is pressing his mouth to Erik’s throat and kissing him there, and then his fangs sink deeply into his flesh, right at his jugular where his blood is sweet and thick.

While Erik knows he’ll never get over the initial sting and ache of having Charles’ venom-slicked teeth embedding themselves into his muscle, the first draw of his blood makes up for the twinge of pain tenfold with pleasure lighting its way along his skin, chasing his nerves, and as he gasps Charles moans against him, sucking at the fresh puncture wounds and rocking his hips against Erik’s stomach. Erik’s blood flows freely from the wound, and Charles pushes the feeling of having him washing down his throat into their tether.

The scent of Charles and his own blood hanging heavily in the air fills Erik’s lungs and lights them with something bright, and he can feel himself hard in these _damned pants._ Charles pushes himself against Erik, forgetting his practised poise and letting loose, growling possessively as he drinks from Erik. He brings a shaky hand up to Erik’s cheek, stroking his thumb in a gentle fan over his skin, and Erik turns and bites at his fingers.

 _Here,_ Charles thinks loudly, and even his mental voice is wavering. He pushes his wrist clumsily against Erik’s mouth, and Erik wastes no time in lining his fangs with the jumping pulse beneath Charles’ opalescent skin and sinking in, lapping at the familiar metallic taste of Charles’ powerful blood.

Erik’s unsure if he’ll ever be able to describe it, the intimate, sensual, _addictive_ feeling of having Charles’ blood sliding down his throat and mingling with his own bloodstreams. Unlike the True Blood, unlike even human blood, it’s something all of its own, laced with power and authority and heated by Charles’ fluttering heart. _Me too,_ Charles thinks, and Erik can feel himself in Charles’ veins - rushing everywhere and filling capillaries, swelling Charles’ heart and making his skin prickle and breath tight - pushed into his senses by Charles’ telepathy.

No one else will ever get to do this with Charles. Even if they can’t be together in that way, even if they keep their love and affection to the shadows and locked in the privacy found between bedroom walls, no one, human or vampire, will have Charles’ blood spilling over their lips and trickling down their chin; no one will ever have Charles nestling into their minds, filling their lungs with his scent, swelling their hearts with his gentle blue gazes and clever little smiles.

This is all for Erik.

*

Afterwards they lay in the bed, tangled in the night coloured satin sheets and each other, Charles coiled around Erik’s side with his head on his naked chest and his conscious flowing gently into Erik’s mind. Sated and full - if a little breathless - Erik cards his fingers through Charles damp hair, blood running thickly under his skin. With every breath Erik’s lungs fill with their mingled scents, and his fangs slide easy and slow from their sheath, an instinct he’s always struggled to control around the Sheriff. Charles is quiet on his chest, but Erik knows he’s simply basking in the way the newfound strength that always comes from drinking another vampire’s blood tingles in his veins.

“Those pants really did look good on you,” Charles laments listlessly, pressing easy kisses to the taut muscle of Erik’s belly, fingers dancing up his chest and chasing his skin. “Such a shame. Such a shame they had to come off.”

“I’m glad my pain brings you pleasure,” Erik grouses, pretending at long-suffering with his fingers tracing up and down Charles’ spine.

Charles hums. “Such a life of servitude you lead,” he drawls, and Erik smiles up at the ceiling. 

“Anything for my Sheriff,” he teases. “Even if that means tailing him on his errands.”

Charles scrunches his nose; Erik can feel his expression where their minds are linked. “ _Fangtasia_ is a bloody terrible name for a club, isn’t it?”

Erik laughs, pulling Charles up to kiss him softly, and Charles moans at how _effortlessly_ Erik lifts Charles onto his chest. “Don’t tell Emma,” he murmurs against his cheek, and Charles wriggles until their naked bodies slot perfectly together, resting his head on Erik’s shoulder and ready for a long sleep.

Dawn brushes its golden fingers across the horizon, streaking it with soft pinks and gentle reds and breaking the night, but the view is lost on the two. Erik thinks it doesn’t matter when he looks down at Charles and finds the vampire brushing his lips against his skin in little kisses, because he has all he’ll ever need already with him, til the end of time.

* * *

 


End file.
